Friday, August 23, 2013

Lately, I've been thinking about a blog I used to stalk. It was years ago, back when I first discovered this wonderful place called Blogville, way back before I even realized that you could follow blogs in nifty little compact ways like Google Friend Connect or Blog Lovin'. Back then, I just cluttered up my favorites folder with a list of the ones I liked.

And I really liked this one.

In fact, it was one of the ones that lured me here in the first place. Whether she was sharing a project around the home, or an adventure from her life, or just her random thoughts, I always got a little giddy when she posted something new.

Then, it happened. I can't quite remember whether it happened all at once, or it was a slow drip, but suddenly, I realized that all she ever posted about was her cat.

Her cat looking out of the window...

Her cat looking in the window...

Her cat going up the steps...

Her cat going down the steps...

Cat. Cat. Cat.

Her posts got fewer and farther between, too. First, we had a cat update every few days. Then, it was once a week. Then even less. After a while, I stopped clicking to see if she had updated at all.

When I was doing that computer file purge a few months ago, I discovered the link to my old favorite blog and opened it to see what she had been up to. Unfortunately, it no longer exists. Whether she did an exit post or went quietly into the cold, cold, night, I do not know.

If you're wondering where I'm going here, it's this:

I do not have a cat.

I don't have a dog, either. I guess I could venture over to the Love Shack once a week and take photos of Dolly and Beamer.

But let's face it.

When you stoop to showing pictures of someone else's dogs,

you have hit the bottom of the barrel.

Folks, I'm bone dry, and I can't deny it anymore.

Rather than do the cat walk, I'm going to take an indefinite blog break. (Yes, from all outward appearances I have been on a break for a year now, but that wasn't for lack of trying. It was for a lack of finishing.)

I should have done this months ago, but I am a stubborn little petless wonder who would rather stare at a keyboard than admit she has a problem. However, Since 2013 is the year of Stepping Out, that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to step out and do a little thinking and living so that maybe... maybe... I'll have something interesting to yak about again someday.

I have decided to take the rest of the summer off. Yes, I realize that to the rest of Blogville, summer is already over, but not here in Dixie. In my neck of the woods, we have a month of summer left to go. Maybe less; maybe more.

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

That's when we reach back into the blog archives and choose four pictures to turn into note cards. They don't have to have a theme, but I'm sort of a themey kind of girl. I'm so themey, in fact, that I can be somewhat like a dog on a bone.

Perhaps you've noticed...

Keeping that in mind, my theme for this month
should be no surprise.

I'm calling this setWelcome to Dixie...

Where even the trees have beards

That's just a stereotype, of course.

You don't actually see that many beards in my neck of the woods,
especially the scraggly kind that migrate south of the Chin Peninsula.

It's mainly for the same reason that you don't see a lot of St. Bernards.

When it's 400 degrees in the shade, you don't add fur.

That's what the husband says, anyway, every time I try to convince him to grow one. Either that, or that beards aren't recommended in his line of work. It makes you appear less trustworthy, he says...

I say,

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

There are lots of trustworthy men bedecked in facial hair, and he knows it. Every year, millions of American mothers take their children to the mall, point to the dude with the long, white, whiskers, and tell them to go sit on his lap. If that's not trustworthy, I don't know what is.

Personally, I think he's just afraid of the Duchess.

The Duchess's dislike of facial hair is legendary. I never saw my father with so much as a set of side burns. Oh, he tried to grow a mustache one time It lasted about an hour. She kept telling him to go back and make it smaller until she succeeded in turning him into Adolf Hitler.

I, on the other hand, am what you call a pogonophile. I like a beard. I don't want it to look like shredded wheat or anything, but I like a nicely trimmed one. That's exactly what Sir Lotsa hair had when I met him, too. I would love to show a picture, but unfortunately he only had it for the first month or so after we started dating. Then, he met The Duchess...

... who very promptly told him he needed to shave his face.

Which he did.

Mo-therrr!

Oooh, that woman. I don't know what kind of power she wields, but in thirty- plus years, I have not been able to convince him to grow so much as a goatee. (That part's fine by me, by the way. When I say a beard, I mean a beard. Not picky much, am I? )

And that's all I have to say about that.

So where do you stand on the subject of facial hair?

****

Oh, and for those who really just came here for the note cards, that's Spanish moss growing on those southern trees. It's pretty legendary, too. The first one was taken in Savannah, the second over the Ogeechee River, the third down the road at sunset, and the fourth, of course, in the blue hour.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Just in case you have forgotten (and I can't see why you should remember...) I dubbed 2013 The Year of Stepping Out. For that reason (and just because I feel like it...), I'm stepping out of my comfort zone today with a post of personal opinion. Yikes!

And just in case you've forgotten (and I can't see why you should remember...) I've been teaching a unit on the Proverbs.We've spent the summer learning the characteristics of the wise man, and we've learned them exactly the way Solomon taught them, by comparing them to the characteristics of the fool.

And do you know where I've gotten my examples for the study of the fool?

(OK, mostly from the pages of my own life story, but besides that...) I got them from watching the news. Really, between the key players in current events and the talking talkers talking about them, just about every characteristic of the fool has been covered this summer. What a sad commentary on our culture...

Last week was no exception. Had I written the stories myself, I couldn't have found a better illustration for this one:

The fool shows his annoyance at once,

but the wise man overlooks an insult. ~Proverbs 12:16

I call this story The Diva and the Duck Man, and it comes courtesy of none other than Oprah Winfrey and Jase, Duck Dynasty, Robertson, both of whom were victims of alleged personal offense. (I say alleged because Miss Winfrey's story has been strongly disputed by the Swiss Miss accused of dissing the diva. )

If you haven't heard the stories, they're just a google away.

Let's put it this way:

The billionaire talk show host was mistaken for someone who couldn't afford a $38,000 crocodile purse and shown a less expensive one. The millionaire duck man was mistaken for a vagrant and shown the door... as in kicked out of his New York hotel.

I can't imagine why...

This post isn't about the offenses, alleged or otherwise. You can decide how you might have felt in each situation. This post isn't about feelings. It's about actions.

First, there's the Diva.

Now actually, Oprah's reaction shouldn't have surprised me. She did what any good diva would do in such a situation. She looked down from Mt. Winfrey and saw the offense. What's more, she yakked her insult abroad to Larry King so he could be offended too. Larry's cooperative like that. It didn't take long for the slap in Oprah's face to be known world wide. Oh, the humanity!

And then, there's the Duck Man.

Jase looked at his story from a completely different perspective. Jase saw the humor. He's a story teller, after all, and this was some funny fodder. As he tells it, he just circled around, came back in, and told his family.

They laughed.

Did it ruffle their feathers? No. Did they fly off in a huff? No again. They didn't complain to the management and demand an apology, either. Hotel owner Donald Trump offered up an apology when he heard about it in the news, but Hunky McDuckman assured him no apology was necessary.

And that, as Miss Kay Robertson would say, is how it's done.

What a contrast.

Now, you probably have your opinion as to the difference between these two. I know that I have mine. I'll go ahead and spill it that I believe the major difference is spiritual. Jase Robertson is full of the Holy Spirit. Oprah? She's mostly full of Oprah. That's how she got herself into this pickle.

(And it is a pickle )

Oprah was a victim alright; she was a victim of bad timing. She had no way of knowing that a long haired country boy from Louisiana would show up on the national scene the very next day with a study in contrast, a contrast that would make her look very much like, well, a fool.

If I believed in coincidence, that's what I would call it.

Instead, I'll call it a teachable moment.

Not just to Oprah, of course, but to me.

(What? You don't have diva moments?)

Whether Oprah chooses to learn anything from the Duck Man is is her business. I truly hope she does. After all, it's better to be corrected than to have your next teachable moment smack dab in the middle of Proverbs 16:18.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Really, on my list of things to watch, it comes below the Home Shopping Network and reruns of Good Times. I just don't get it.

For the life of me, I can't understand why anyone would want to Keep Up with a family whose sole talent appears to be posing for People magazine and naming their children after cardinal directions. Those Real Housewives of Wherever are all unreal to my way of thinking... and don't even get me started on Honey Boo Boo. The fact that she lives about an hour from here both embarrasses and annoys me.

Not. A. Fan.

So why am I a fan of a bunch of duck hunters from Louisiana who haven't shaved in, well, ever?

I dunno...They just quack me up.

Blame it on the Newlywed niece. She discovered the show one lonely night when Lt. McNephew was deployed. Before she knew it, she was hooked. (Maybe it was the camouflage...) Then, she managed to infect the entire family, including the Duchess, with the duck virus.

The reason is simple, and it can be summed up in three words:

Faith, Family, Ducks...in that order.

First, I love how they aren't afraid to share their faith.
They don't just profess it, either; they actually live it.

Second, I love their commitment to family.

If you've read here long, you know that I'm all about the multi-generational family. My favorite part of the show is when they gather around the family table at the end for the patriarchal prayer. Then, Willie does a voice- over tying it all together, and just for a moment, America seems right again.

And then, we have the ducks.

The ducks are the inspiration for this table. Yep. Just in case you hadn't noticed, this isn't exactly a pretty table this week. The colors won't pop. They aren't supposed to... we're in the duck blind, people. Try to keep up.

The place setting is black, beige, brown, and green,

and we even did a little duck-ou-flage on the chargers.

See? You almost missed them, didn't you?

A burlap tablecloth and some rustic flatware

Some mason jars for our tea 'cause that's the way they roll around that table.

Well, all except Uncle Si. He's a bring-your-own-tumbler kind of guy, and he's been hauling around that same bluetumbler since his mom sent it in a care package to 'Nam.

Uncle Si tells all kinds of stories about 'Nam...

Some of them are 95% accurate, too.

Please note that our redneck wine glasses aren't filled with anything at all. We would have served some of Willie's Mallard Merlot, but we couldn't get any takers.

And those aren't bows on the stems... they're beards.

I was supposed to build a little duck blind for the centerpiece, but apparently I'm what Phil Robertson would call a yuppy girl from the subdivision. I couldn't get it to look right.

I stuck a potted plant in there instead.

And that's all she wrote.

Just a fun little table to get us in the mood for the opening of

Duck Dynasty Season 4

tonight

(A&E, 10:00 PM)

If you've never tried the show, may I suggest you give it a whirl?

I guarantee it will leave you feeling

Happy, Happy, Happy

And that's a fact, Jack!

*****

By the way, I wasn't compensated for this endorsement. However, if the Robertsons should read this and want to send some of Miss Kay's biscuits my way, I won't turn them down.

The eggs are actually the reason for this post. I decoupaged some for our most recent tablescape challenge, and I'm still getting emails with questions about them. I figured since I really don't have anything else to yak about right now, I might as well answer the questions and give some tips for decoupaging eggs and other odd shaped things. Let's face it: If you can decoupage a hollowed out egg, you can decoupage just about anything.

Which answers Question #1

Yes. I used real (blown) eggs, but you could use faux ones. I just wouldn't try it with those plastic two piece numbers.

Question #2:

The pattern came from some wrapping paper that I got at Hobby Lobby after Christmas.

***OK, here's where I part company with the Mod Podge mavens. Classically, you're supposed to just hold it on with water. Go ahead and do that if you want, but I'm not a fan, especially if the paper is really thin. Water, hormones, and thin pieces of paper just don't play well together. Generally speaking, I hold mine on with a glue stick applied very lightly to the base piece.

Then, Mod Podge over the whole shebang
with a soft brush, and smooth it out with your fingers.

Monday, August 5, 2013

Just popping in this morning since I'm still juggling those two hats from last week. I did want to start the week with a little makeover yakabout. It's from the dining room that I've been working on forever now. One day soon... and I really do mean it this time, Sharon... I will provide that after picture.

It's just that I'm one of those Ta Da kinds of gals, and every time I get ready to Ta Da, I discover yet another glaring error needing to be ta done.

So... please try really hard not to notice how pretty the new chairs look around my table. No, really... don't peek. I'm saving that for the Ta Da. I even went so far as to take a lousy picture just to obscure your vision.

Instead, please direct your attention to the glaring error in the room.

Yes, it's literally glaring.

Oh how I loathe that big fat '80s brasselier. For one, the builder hung it up too high. To lower it would require rewiring, and I don't want to spend money on an electrician for an unloved brasselier.

What I really want in there is a true crystal chandelier, an antique or vintage one if possible. For that, I would hire the electrician. I've wanted a lovely vintage chandelier for as long as I've been married. I kind of gave up the dream for a decade or so because *they* said that such fixtures were no longer in style.

Baloney. Beautiful just doesn't go out of style. Plus, about a year ago, I grew up and decided that I was too 50 to worry about it. I'm the one who has to live here. So I'm saving and hunting for the perfect antique chandelier. Of course, I still needed to do something about the brasselier.

Lately, I have fallen in love with yet another vintage look.

This one.

(screen shot from someone's wedding video.)

I decided to see if I could just fake the look myself.

I had seen Vanessa At The Picket Fence do something similar a few years ago.

So we took it down...

Before... shiny.

During...

not so shiny.

I used about 2 cans of Rustoleum Metallics in antique brass to get it to that point.

(Tip: It goes on with zero drip marks if sprayed in short spurts, over and over and over. )

Then, I kept playing with additions of espresso craft paint with a dry brush for a few days until I got the aged look that I wanted. In the meantime, I bid on some vintage crystal prisms on Ebay.

Which I cleaned and sparkled and used to bling the bobeche.

And Ta-D-.....

Ok, not quite Ta Da yet.

I'm still playing with the number of prisms per bobeche and a few other ideas, but you get the drift. All told, it took less than forty dollars out of the chandelier fund and I have a bunch of crystals left. Not bad at all for a transitional light fixture, don't you think?

And I'll throw one more tip in for free: If you don't want to dent your beautiful table top by dropping vintage crystal prisms on it when you are playing, cover it with some big fluffy towels.

Yakking all about myself...

Seriously talkative Christian mom who is blessed enough to be married to her favorite friend. We have two nearly grown daughters, one practical--and one whimsical. Together, they have filled our home with the perfect balance of practical whimsy.